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Withering Cedars, Georgia, United States
My name is Tim Morris. I currently dwell in Northwest Georgia on my estate, Withering Cedars, nestled at the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, with my lovely wife and two beautiful daughters, where I teach high school American literature. I have been writing poetry for the majority of my life. I write about what I see around me. When asked, I describe my style as "realist romantic surrealism". The environment, sex, jazz, religion, politics, family, etc., are the subjects on which I tend to focus. When I am not writing, I play the banjo, didgeridoo, or drums or wander aimlessly shooting odd objects with my camera.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

"one-eleven-eleven"

bunkered and secluded
in rare georgia snow,
nerves frozen,
on edge,
i long to be
a singapore blacksmith
slinging steel
on the bow of a
cherry-wood junk
moored in the moonlight's
drunken smile.

i would feed my fire
with whiskey and wine
as sweet chinese harlots
dance naked
on the beach.

i would hone my blades
with poetry;
sharpen their edges
with the divine,
and at sunrise
weigh anchor,
hoist the sails,
and attack the horizon
with violent, insatiable
love.

but alas,
i sit at my window
like squinty-eyed carruth,
with a half-empty bottle
and coltrane,
watching the sun
jump from the ice
in a taunting, stunning
dance.

4 comments:

Jonnia Smith said...

A blacksmith in a boat?!?! Oh, but blades made this way would sing beautifully, wouldn't they? Lovely romp of a snow-bound daydream!

Tim Morris said...

Thank you my dear! Not sure where this one came from, but there it is! Thanks, as always, for reading!

. said...

Again, great visuals - especially the ending of each stanza, and the last stanza in particular is so good.

Tim Morris said...

thanks again! i'm a big hayden carruth fan and for reason he popped into my head as i was writing this.